


Stop The Carousel Because I Want To Get Off

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [17]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Chrysler building, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gargoyles, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: A deep rift has developed between handler and CI. Neal is hurt and feels resentful, and, as Peter liked to say, the young con man does something really stupid and dangerous.Set during Season 5
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Series: White Collar Discussions [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472945
Comments: 15
Kudos: 69





	Stop The Carousel Because I Want To Get Off

Neal was in a very dark place—not physically, but rather mentally. What had started out some years ago as a short four-year hiatus from his life while he toiled away for the FBI had evolved into a totally different animal. When Neal looked back on the past with the 20-20 vision of hindsight, he knew that he had been responsible for most of his own problems. He had tried to twist himself into a person he really couldn’t be. For starters, it was dangerous to form attachments, namely to his handler, Peter Burke. Con men couldn’t be friends with lawmen and endow them with any kind of trust. The two species simply didn’t mesh, and that had been a hard lesson to learn.

Recently, the tethered CI had experienced the sting of Peter’s extreme contempt, even though Neal felt it had been his responsibility to gain his handler’s freedom for a crime committed by the con man’s own father. An ungrateful Peter made his displeasure felt in so many ways—a frigid distance and a new uncompromised handler spearheading that resolution. Now Agent David Siegel had been murdered, and somehow Neal intuited that it was tied into him in some convoluted way. That premise was hammered home when Rebecca Lowe’s devious agenda was uncovered in a plot complicated by none other than Curtis Hagen. It was a Gordian Knot of epic proportions with no unraveling in sight.

So, it wasn’t unreasonable to accept that Neal now felt deeply depressed, disillusioned, and was truly hurting. For months, he had been juggling as fast as he could to keep so many balls in the air. Alone in his loft this evening, he finally realized how tired he was—so very tired of everything. He needed to be somebody else, if only for a short time. He had heard chatter on the street about a new, somewhat secretive little hideaway spot deep within the city. It was a weird sort of club where anything and everything was tolerated, and the owners were certainly imaginative with their venues.

According to the street gossip, regular offerings included a sort of immersive cinema with accompanying costumes, weekend Bacchanalian nude brunches with free-flowing liquor, circus spectacles that featured the occasional live mammal or reptile, politically-incorrect burlesque, poetry brothels, and decadent Dionysian dinners. Others told him of lusty rooftop hot tub sessions, spanking stations, glitter pop-ups, naked limbo competitions, musicals about sex work, and free-flowing drugs like ketamine and hallucinogenic LSD. Plugged-in informers also mentioned zany Christmas spectaculars with lots of little bearded elves in tights, mystical tarot card readings, extreme yoga for contortionists, intimate massages, and plenty more in between.

Neal was made aware that this was a world where the wildest, wackiest, craziest people on earth came out to play, most dressed in outfits inspired by luridly vivid imaginations. From madcap artistic producers, to circus acrobats, to drag queens, to strippers, to pole dancers, to the world’s best rap artists — it was an over the top scene. Maybe tonight it would become Neal’s scene and a temporary escape from reality.

It took some dedicated spelunking down a few seamy side streets in the city to locate the clandestine hideaway. There was no sign indicating what lay behind a sturdy sound-proofed door where a burly bouncer stood like a menacing sentry. Neal held a $100 bill between his fingers, and, after a thorough pat down to make sure he wasn’t harboring a weapon, Neal was allowed entrance into a strange and very loud world. Patrons were dancing like crazed whirling tops while other people on an elevated stage were performing a scene right out of _Fifty Shades of Grey._ Eventually, Neal was able to maneuver his way to a round bar located under strobe lights in the middle of all the chaos. He yelled across to a bartender in a loincloth and a Donald Trump wig to place his order for a Kettle One on the rocks.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to try the special political drink of the night, my friend?” the barkeep snickered. “I could serve you a Trumptini—the recipe’s one part demagoguery, two parts nonsense, then it’s shaken violently.”

“Clever,” Neal acknowledged, “but I’m fine with plain, no-nonsense vodka.”

After that brief exchange, Neal felt a lithe young woman dressed in a tight pink cat costume sidle up to him. “Hey handsome,” the newcomer cooed suggestively, “love the three-piece suit and the sexy hat. My name’s ‘Glamour Puss,’ in case you’re interested, and I hope you are,” she purred as she striped a line up Neal’s neck with her tongue. “Now give me a hint who you’re supposed to be,” she asked with wide kohl-enhanced feline eyes.

Neal smiled as he began to unwind and loosen up a bit in this crazy upside-down world. It felt good to pretend to be someone else for just a little while. “The hat’s a fedora, and I’m Philip Marlowe, the detective character that Humphrey Bogart played in the old movie, _The Big Sleep._ ”

“Humphrey!” the young girl giggled inanely. “Is that really a name, or something like a handle for some doofus? You know, like Humphrey Dumphrey, the big clumsy egg.”

“I supposed it could be both,” Neal laughed along with her. He definitely found humor in this present situation because it made absolutely no sense in a logical world. So, for tonight, Neal had discovered his desired little escape from reality.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the evening progresses, Neal joins the gyrating mass of dancers. He drinks more alcohol, maybe even a few Trumptinis, and things become hazy. He’s okay with that because he simply wants to forget his troubles and get lost in all the glitz, glitter, noise, and swirling mists. Eventually, he feels overheated and unbuttons his vest and the top button on his shirt before loosening the Windsor knot in his tie. He would have pulled it completely off except the pink kitten by his side objects. She’s wearing his fedora perched at a jaunty angle and grabs his hand. “Leave it on, baby, ‘cause it makes you look so damn sexy.”

Then this fuzzy little seductress is leading him by the hand to a small alcove with a black leather couch. She takes his face in her hands and buries her carnal tongue within his welcoming mouth. Neal thinks he might be aroused, but he isn’t sure at this point because parts of his body are beginning to feel numb. “Glamour Puss” kisses him sensuously once more, and this time Neal can feel something thick, almost like paper cardstock, slide across his tongue. He opens his eyes wide and sees her smile seductively. “Let’s take a little trip together, Stud Man.” It’s the last coherent image Neal has in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter gets a 2 am call from Jones. “Peter, sorry to call so late, or maybe I should say early,” the serious FBI agent says slowly. “But I’m not quite sure what to do about a call I received from the NYPD. It concerns Caffrey, and I know you’ve been keeping your distance from him, but since Agent Siegel has died, I really don’t know who his current handler is.”

Peter sighs. “I suppose that’s me by default,” he growls. “What’s Neal done now? If he’s decided to run, then so be it because I’m done with him and he can be somebody else’s problem in the future.”

“No, he hasn’t run,” Jones reassures his boss. “In fact, he’s right within his radius, at least as it pertains to the ground,” Jones adds mysteriously.

“I’m not in the mood for riddles, Clinton, so just lay it on me,” Peter grumbles as he makes his way out of bed so he won’t disturb his sleeping wife.

Jones takes a fortifying breath as he tries to explain Neal’s erratic behavior and present situation. “Caffrey is currently located on an upper floor in the Chrysler Building. He’s actually not in the building, but rather outside of it. A night security guard called the police when he spotted Neal walking along the narrow cement expanse that forms the neck on one of those fierce-looking gargoyles adorning the façade of the skyscraper. He must have used some kind of parkour to even gain access to those things. Anyway, now that he’s actually out there, the cops say he just keeps pacing, rambling, singing and acting generally unhinged, so they think he’s in the throes of some kind of psychotic break. They’ve tried to talk him down, or rather back into the building, but so far, no luck. What do you want me to tell them, Peter?”

“Tell them I’m on my way,” Peter huffs as he realizes it’s the same old, same old, but with a slightly more dangerous twist this time. He has to rescue the con man from himself yet again. Even though he had acted like he really didn’t want to expend the energy when he spoke with Jones, Peter knew he still harbored feelings for the manipulative felon. When all was said and done, he cared about Neal in his own way and knew he had to save him once more. It seemed that would always be his cross to bear, his mission in life to protect an impetuous, but well-intentioned, young fool.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal was sitting lotus-style on the neck of a gargoyle located on the 31st floor of the Chrysler Building. He wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten here, but now it seemed that it had been a pretty good decision on his part. All around him was a warm comforting blanket of soft darkness, and it made him feel peaceful and serene. He looked up above his precarious perch and saw the incandescent globe of the moon. He brought the palm of his hand up and nestled it beneath the floating golden ball. Like magic, his hand became translucent and the tips of his fingers suddenly began to emit dazzling little sparklers of shooting stars—red, blue, green, and yellow. They soared in delicate little arcs before falling, down and down, to the street below. Neal gazed after them at a scene that seemed surreal. He could just about make out parades of tiny ants hurrying to unknown destinations. He was happy to be far away from the chaos. Maybe he would stay here forever, cocooned in the sweet embrace of the gentle night. But intrusive strangers just wouldn’t let him bask in his solitude. He began to hum to himself in an attempt to block out the incessant white noise behind him. People were insistently calling his name, threatening, demanding, even cajoling. Why couldn’t they just leave him be?

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter had pulled out all the stops and put the pedal to the metal, screeching to a halt near Midtown Manhattan at the intersection of 42nd Street and Lexington Avenue. He threw an FBI placard on the car’s dashboard and craned his neck to look up at the huge monolithic art deco structure that soared over 1,000 feet into the air. Why did it always have to be “up” with Neal? The building security guard was waiting at the entrance to allow him in. “I’ve turned on the elevators,” he told Peter, “so we don’t have to hike up all those floors. But that crazy guy upstairs apparently is some kind of mountain goat ‘cause that’s what he did. Do you know the dude?”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter said gruffly.

“So, is he suicidal, or what?” the guard asked.

“The last time I checked, he certainly wasn’t,” Peter said worriedly.

The scene on the 31st floor was tense. Jones was there as were two NYPD police officers looking nervous and at their wits end. They were standing at a small opening that led outward, no doubt Neal’s point of egress into the eerie stratosphere beyond.

“We’ve tried to talk him into coming back in, but no dice,” one of the patrolmen informed Peter. “We’re not sure if he’s just out of his head drunk, or something worse. He keeps talking or singing to himself, so maybe it’s a type of schizophrenia or just the prelude before a rather spectacular suicide.”

“Does he appear to recognize your voice?” Peter asked Jones.

“Peter, he doesn’t respond to anything. He won’t even turn around to face us, not that I think that would be a good idea at this juncture. That ledge is barely 18 inches wide, and if he’s unsteady on his feet….,” Jones didn’t need to finish the sentence for Peter to get the horrible picture of Neal falling to the street below, a bloody disjointed mass of tissue and bone.

Peter took a deep breath and leaned out into the night. He wouldn’t let himself look down, and he hoped that Neal wouldn’t either. Neither one of them needed a case of vertigo at this point in time. “Neal,” he called out softly.

Peter saw his CI’s back stiffen for a second before he uttered, “Go away! Just go away! You can’t keep sliding in and out of my life like it has a revolving door. You’re here one minute and then you’re gone again. You left me and Mom when I was a kid and now you’ve slunk away again. Just like always, you keep leaving me alone. It makes me feel like I’m marooned on a tiny island in a very big sea.”

“What the hell?” Jones asked in confusion. “Who does he think you are?”

Peter scowled as he got the inference. Neal thought he was talking to James Bennett, his father. This drove home the point that Neal was definitely having hallucinations and wasn’t in touch with the real world.

“Neal, it’s Peter,” a concerned handler tried again. “You are not alone. I’m here waiting for you to come back inside so that we can talk.”

Peter saw Neal begin to shake his head back and forth. “I don’t want to talk to you either, Peter,” he murmured sadly. “You left me, too, and that just wasn’t right, so now you can go away, as well.”

“Maybe distancing myself from you wasn’t right,” Peter coaxed. “Please come back inside so that we can fix things between us.”

“They can’t be fixed,” Neal insisted. “It is what it is and that’s really okay. I’ve been all alone before and I’ve managed. Hell, I was alone in a prison population of 1700 and I survived. Now that I think about it, I’ve always wound up alone because people that I care about continually leave me.”

Before Peter could respond, Neal began counting names off on his fingers. “Way back when, my father left me, my mother checked out, Kate left me, Sara left me, Mozzie leaves me from time to time when he doesn’t get his way, and then there’s poor David Siegel, who made a rather dramatic exit just recently. Peter, you’re just the last in a long line of people who wanted to keep their distance. You’re not the first to head for the hills, and you probably won’t be the last. So, now I’ve decided to keep one step ahead of the game. I’ve convinced myself that I prefer to be alone and that it’s my choice. From now on, I’ll be the one to leave everybody else behind.”

After that long, melancholy speech, Peter held his breath as Neal unfolded his long legs in front of him and his back descended to the cold concrete beneath him. He cushioned the back of his head with his entwined hands, and from his new supine position on the narrow ledge, he was gazing contentedly up into the sky. “I think I can see all the planets in the cosmos from this angle,” he murmured with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Do you think we should get some shrink up here?” one of the cops suggested. “That statement definitely sounded suicidal to me. Maybe a trained professional could do a better job than us. Somebody needs to talk him out of taking a swan dive.”

“That may not be his real intention,” Peter replied as the light dawned. “I think it may mean that he’s planning to leave in an entirely different way.”

“I don’t get it,” the cop wasn’t convinced.

“Look, just let me try another sort of shaman first,” Peter muttered as he quickly texted Mozzie. Then he hung his head outside the small opening once again. “Neal, you need to stop stargazing and concentrate on the sound of my voice. Listen to my words and really hear what I’m saying.”

“Don’t wanna,” Neal protested as he put his fingers in his ears. “La, la, la, can’t hear you,” he sang out.

Peter ignored the adolescent response. “Neal, you need to return to the real world because we have work to do. You and I have to find Siegel’s killer and bring him to justice. It’s what we do.”

“It’s what _you_ do, Peter,” Neal argued. “You don’t like the way I create my own form of justice. You swagger around with your ‘holier than thou’ attitude, and, if I’m being honest, there are times I don’t even like you because of your colossal ego and your craving for dominance.”

“I swear I can be more flexible and less judgmental in the future,” Peter offered. “C’mon, Buddy, this is something we can work out together.”

“Peter,” Neal said softly, “if I come back to you it will be like getting on the same old carousel that keeps going round and round. The wooden horses will keep going up and down, just like my life—up one minute and then down the next. I just want it to stop. Can you understand—I want the carousel to stop turning so I can get off the never-ending ride.”

“I hear you, Buddy,” Peter responded just as softly. “I know I haven’t always handled things well, and that’s on me. Let’s work on this together so you can find a sense of solid footing. We’ll start from ground zero and forge a new beginning because our story isn’t over yet. You can’t leave before the ending, Neal, you just can’t.”

“I’m really tired, Peter, and right now I just want to sleep,” an endangered and disoriented young man finally mumbled after a nerve-wracking silence. “Maybe we can we talk later,” he said with a yawn as he left a painful reality behind and lapsed, once again, into a more welcoming but distorted place in his mind.

“No, Neal, don’t fall asleep!” Peter pleaded. “You could accidently roll off the edge of that concrete and fall to your death. You have to stay focused until we can get you in safely. Just keep talking. C’mon, Neal, I can’t physically reach out and touch you, so you’ll have to work with me here.”

Suddenly, Peter became aware of a new presence by his side. He looked to his left and discovered a somber Mozzie, wide-eyed and staring up at him from behind his thick spectacles. “So, how did this happen?” he demanded to know with an arched eyebrow.

“Beats me,” Peter answered honestly. “I was notified earlier tonight that the cops discovered him out there on his perilous little perch talking gibberish. I think he must be on something, because when I first arrived he was hallucinating.”

Mozzie frowned. “Neal never takes drugs, so somebody must have slipped him something. If he’s hallucinating, then it could be any number of things, but the first that comes to mind is acid. How disoriented is he?”

“It was worse when I first arrived,” Peter informed him. “He thought I was his father. Now he seems to know who I am, but he still won’t cooperate and crawl back inside.”

“Well, the effects of the drug normally peak in three to four hours, so perhaps he’s coming down from the trip,” Mozzie postulated. “Maybe I should try persuading him to come back to the solid land of the living.”

With that being said, Mozzie strutted up to the tiny portal and peered out into the night. “For God’s sake, don’t startle him,” Peter said worriedly. “That might cause him to lose his balance and plummet to his death.”

Mozzie turned in Peter’s direction and executed an expansive eyeroll. “Neal’s as agile as a gymnast, and that ledge is nothing more than a balance beam to him. He’s been in much more dangerously precarious positions before, although I’m not about to enlighten you on that score, Suit.”

Mozzie again stuck his head outside and forcefully shouted. “Earth to Neal—it’s time to come back down to terra firma. Get your skinny butt in here now!”

Neal abruptly sat up, and with one leg dangling perilously off the ledge, looked back over his shoulder. “Moz?” he asked in a perplexed tone.

“Yep, it’s yours truly,” Mozzie said matter-of-factly. “This little caper is over and it’s time we headed back home.”

“Now?” Neal asked in a whining tone.

“Yes, now!” Mozzie said in a firm, no-nonsense voice.

Those inside heard Neal huff out a breath, and then he was slowly contorting his body so that he was on his hands and knees facing back towards his little bald partner in crime. He began a tedious hand over hand torturous crawl that had everyone’s hearts in their throats. His narrow tie, still loosely knotted, was dangling from his neck, and when he was within grabbing distance, Peter hastily clung to it like a lifeline and gently tugged Neal the rest of the way until he could slither in through the small opening. Instinctively, Peter enfolded his wayward CI in a warm embrace. “We’re going to make things right, Neal. I promise.”

That unexpected emotional response from Peter had seemed to come out of nowhere, and Neal wondered what he had missed. Apparently, there was a lot of information somehow eluding him at the moment. He guessed there was probably some weird tale that needed telling, but right now, Peter’s arms felt really good, so that story could wait until later.


End file.
